Fine
by Claire Starling
Summary: Spike tells himself that Dawn will be fine. But they both know it's the end. Post S7.


Disclaimer: The B:tVS universe belongs to Joss.  
>Notes: Written for LJ's madannekidd who requested, "Beautiful angst. Romantic angst that ends happily."<br>Time: Roughly four years after _Chosen_.

A/N: I originally wrote this fiction in 2006, and recently revised it. I offer the new version to you.

* * *

><p><strong>Fine<strong>

He never realized how tiny Dawn really was. She had this big personality, big smile, big eyes… he never noticed how fragile she was underneath all her strong words. But amongst the beeping machines and endless wires, Spike finally understood something very important.

Dawn was mortal. And he wasn't.

Something was wrong with her, no one had told him what. He could tell though. Just like the way Dawn could tell when they hadn't told her she was The Key. Everyone looked at him with these sad gazes, stuttering around him, not knowing what to say.

"Hey," she whispered, her voice tired and old.

_But she always knew what to say._

"Hey yourself, bit," he replied, kneeling beside the bed.

He took her small hand into his larger ones and kissed the delicate tips. He remembered how he used to break fingers off of little girls and give them to Dru. But Spike would rather cut off his own hands than touch Dawn to hurt her.

"You're going to get better, yeah pidgeon? You know I hate it when you're sick," he said, looking into her blue, blue eyes.

She looked away, down for a moment. When her gaze returned to his, her eyes were tearing. Small delicate tears fell down her face, pooling in her collarbone.

"Spike…" she whispered, her voice hesitant. She steeled her resolve and Spike felt as though someone were about to tug him inside out.

"I'm not sick. I'm dying," she said finally.

Spike looked at her in shock. "What? Dawn, that's ridiculous. You stop this nonsense right now, missy. You're only twenty."

But he all ready knew. He never called her Dawn unless something was wrong.

"A shadow, Spike," she said, caressing the back of his hand. "There's a shadow. And it's killing me."

"What about surgery?" Spike asked, becoming more desperate as he clung tightly to her arm, slowly dragging her into an embrace. "Your mom, she had-."

Dawn shook her head slowly. "It's malignant, Spike. There's nothing they can do."

"No, Dawn. No. Those bloody doctors are going to fix you up right and proper and you're going to be fine. You're going to be just fine!" he said, panic rising in his voice.

"Spike, no…" Dawn whispered, her head still shaking.

He hated the sound in her voice, the resolution. It reminded him of the look in the eyes of too many of his victims when they knew they were going to die. Acceptance.

"No! You're going to be just bloody fine! Remember, I promised to take care of you until the end of the world. And you aren't going anywhere until the world bloody well ends! You hear me!" he cried out, shaking her by the shoulders. Maybe if he shook her hard enough the sense would beat the tumor right out of her head.

The scent of blood brought him back to himself as he realized that his frantic movements had dislodged her IV, but Dawn hadn't cried out in pain. Instead, she cupped Spike's face in her small hands. And despite the fact that her face was just as wet with tears as his was, she was attempting to reassure him. Her calm frightened him and he leaned forward to capture her lips. The desperation in his kiss revealed the truth as it dragged a sob free from her. She was scared.

Spike clutched on tightly to the girl he loved. It had taken him years to realize that he had loved her. He had to die, get yanked back into the world, and nearly die again before he was able to even acknowledge his feelings for Dawn. It was only after Buffy confronted him about it that he had grown the balls to act upon them. She had only been his for barely a year and he was not going to give her up now. Not for anything.

"Tilt your head," Spike said, his voice stern.

"Spike," Dawn pulled away, looking to his eyes. "What are you saying?"

"If those stupid gits can't fix you, I sure as hell will. You'll be fine. We'll bind ourselves together and Red will do her little spell and everything will be fine. It'll be you and me forever," Spike said, carressing her face.

He could make it better, he knew he could. But instead of having the desired affect, Dawn's pale face managed to turn an impossibly lighter shade of white.

"I don't have a soul, Spike," Dawn said softly.

"Of course you do, pet." Looking down at her, he remembered her fear of being evil in a tunnel all those years ago. He gently brushed her hair behind her shoulders as he longed to then, knowing how well it comforted her. "And Red will put it back and-."

"No, Spike," Dawn asserted. She grabbed Spike's face and stared into his eyes. "I **don't** have a soul. Willow found out two years ago. If you turn me… they'll be nothing to put back."

A phlegmy giggle escaped her. "Turns out that magic can create a flesh and bone, but you can't pluck a soul out of thin air. And I know you weren't any different with or without your soul, you were always you. But I don't know what the magic that makes me **me** is bound to."

There was a long silence. Dawn could practically hear the wheels turning in his head as he tried to figure out a solution. As the silence dragged on, a wan smile tugged at her lips.

"You think I didn't know I was dying?" she asked, barely loud enough to be heard over her machines. "I saw the signs, I remembered how it happened with Mom. I knew. The first thing that… the first thing I wanted to do was be with you. Tear myself open and drink you down. I didn't care if Buffy or anyone else was okay with it. I know you'll take care of me."

She smiled at him but the light in her eyes died a little as she forced herself to continue. "But Spike… if you do, what comes back won't be me. Not exactly. If I come back at all. And if you don't… I don't have a lot of time left."

He opened his mouth to speak but Dawn placed a finger over his mouth. "Listen to me. I've come to peace with what's happening to me. And… whatever you decide, I'm with you. It's your choice."

_I'm dead either way_ was left hanging in the air.

Spike looked at Dawn as a shock went through him. He never would have hesitated before. But now he understood why Dawn hadn't told him. If he did turn her, if the magic worked… there was no telling what would come crawling out of her grave. It would break his heart if it was only a facade, a monster wearing Dawn's face. It would destroy him to kill her again. He would have to lose his own soul, trail around the world, and become a different man just to keep her here.

And if he let her go… if he let her go… He'd be alone. Forever.

"You still have time," she continued. "We both do. Three weeks… a month at most."

"I love you," Spike whispered, clutching her tightly to him. Her buried his face in her neck, his eyes closed as he fought back tears.

"Love you too," she whispered back, her lips brushing against his neck.

He heard her unspoken wish in that single phrase and he didn't know if he had the strength to be the man she needed him to be.

Her breath warmed his cheeks and he memorized the sweet sound of her heartbeat.

And in that sweet silence, Spike bit down and drank deep.

* * *

><p>Dawn's gravestone glowed in the moonlight. Spike sat on the freshly turned dirt and traced her name oh-so-slowly with his finger. Everything was a blur except for the sharpness of her name carved into marble.<p>

Dawn was dead. And he had killed her.

He waited patiently, his hand pressed into the cool stone. Just like her skin had been as he held her close when he was done. Just as her skin would be forever. Cold and white and dead.

He heard a stirring in the ground and closed his eyes. He could hear the telltale noise of a coffin breaking open and hands scratching at the dirt until a fledgling emerged from the ground.

Spike looked into the eyes of the vampire. A moment later, his hand lashed out and dust filled the air.

He glared at the grave that the offending vampire had burst from before turning back to Dawn.

In the end, he couldn't turn her. Not when she looked up at him with that sweet, peaceful smile. He couldn't take everything he loved about her and risk tainting it in the hopes that he could keep her with him. He would only be keeping her away from where she really belonged. She needed her mum, her family. So he had kissed her and ended her pain the only way he knew how. And she was smiling. At peace.

A part of him worried that she would disappear, but he had faith in her. The magic inside of her was stronger than any soul. He had tasted it and seen it pull apart worlds. There was nothing more powerful than her essence.

Plus, his nibblet was the most stubborn person he knew. If there was anything right and good in this universe, her ball of energy was floating amongst the souls of her family in whatever constituted a heaven.

When the sunlight touched the grave, it would warm. Spike lay over her body, six feet beneath his. He stared at the sky, the St. Peter's Basilica Cathedral standing tall behind him. He had found his way home. He closed his eyes and waited for Dawn.

_In the shadows of tall buildings_  
><em>Of open arches endlessly kneeling<em>  
><em>Sonic landscapes echoing vistas<em>  
><em>Someone is listening from a safe distance<em>  
><em>The line moves slowly into a fading light<em>  
><em>A final moment in the dead of the night<em>

_In the cathedrals of New York and Rome_  
><em>There is a feeling that you should just go home<em>  
><em>And spend a lifetime finding out just where that is<em>

**.end.**


End file.
